Curse of a Nation
by AwesomeMango
Summary: Philippines. That's his name, that's his country. But is he really who they all say? Hetalia AU (by HC). Philippines and other OC belongs to HC. Inspired by an event on a page.


For as long as I can remember, I have always been the Philippines. I have no memories of my childhood or my teenage years. I can't even remember how my marriage with Brunei. All I know is that I am the Philippines and it's my duty to serve my people.

But I've heard from other countries that we used to be humans. That we didn't just pop out of nowhere. And I believed them. Why? Well, there are two reasons.

Reason one: I don't remember being the Philippines from the beginning. I was never there when the Spaniards invaded and when the Americans took over. However, I was there during World War 2. I remember everything clearly. It was utterly terrifying.

This leads me to another theory: there was more than one Philippines. I remembered every single detail of World War 2 and events that followed. There was not one soldier that I've forgotten the name of or one citizen that died. So, why would I forget the Spanish and American colonization?

I've tried asking my boss once about it. His response? He stared at me for a moment, smiled thinly, and told me to attend my work. What does that scream? 'You weren't the first Philippines!'

Moving on, reason two: I had flashbacks of my past life. Remember Typhoon Yolanda? When the typhoon hit and wrecked destruction, I had sudden images pop up into my mind like a tsunami. They were images of a woman. She looked about in her early twenties with long, silky black hair and sun-kissed skin. I saw her asleep next to me, making food, smiling warmly, and washing the laundry (by hand). I was so confused at the time, wondering why I felt this strange longing in my heart. I didn't know why, but I wanted to hold her close and just stay like that.

I never understood why I felt like that, but I just decided to shrug it off. After all, I had other duties to do. The country was in desperate need of lots of things with the depression the typhoon left.

But still, I have never stopped thinking about her. She was always on my mind, her image slowly crawling into my thoughts. It went on for months and I suffered greatly. I never knew the mere thought of a girl could send this much pain and suffering into my heart.

Finally, I decided to do some research.

The whole thing was ridiculous, I know, but I was so desperate to get the questions that buzzed in my head out.

For a whole month, I've dedicated nearly all my time to her search. I sent out people to do research, I visited every library I could, and I even went as far as going through the country's private files. The whole thing was in vain, though. We found absolutely nothing.

However, when I was about to give up, a voice – a sort of whispering of a female – began to call me. "Emilio, Emilio. . ."

I perked up. The only people who knew my human name were other countries and my boss. And this voice didn't sound like any of them.

Curious, I followed the voice. It beckoned on and on, leading me through various hallways and stairs

By the time I got to my destination, where the voice immediately stopped, I have gone deep into the house. How do I know? Well, it's simple really.

When I first moved in to the house, my boss had brought me to this very place. It took an awfully long time, descending down the stairs and passing dozens of hallways. On the topic of my boss bringing me here, there was also something that he told me: "Don't ever go in there."

But I couldn't resist. I felt that if I opened the door, I would finally get answers. So, with one turn of the knob, I braced myself.

The inside of the room was dark and dusty. I coughed as I entered, flipping the light switch on.

The light flooded the room like some virus. Boxes – tons of them – were inside, covered in a layer of thick dust. Spider webs were scattered everywhere, their owner nowhere to be found. There were lizards on the ceiling, too.

The voice started to whisper again. "Here, here, here. . ."

I glanced at the box on the left corner. Is it that one?

'Yes,' my gut said.

I shrugged. I have nothing to lose. So, with slow and heavy steps, I approached the dusty box.

The thing must have been really old. The cardboard was yellowed and wilting, spiders crawled on top (so that's where they went), and the dust levels were off the charts.

Still, something told me (and it wasn't the voice) to open it. Taking a deep breath, I swipe away the spiders and dust. No way am I opening the box with those on it.

I took out the small knife, which I always kept for safety, and sliced the tape into two. Then I lifted the flaps, blasted with waves of dust, and peered inside.

The contents were women's clothing, which were from the Japanese occupation (if I remember correctly), and a picture. They were all aged with time, but they were somewhat preserved enough to be called 'decent."

I picked up the picture first. There were two people: the woman from my flashbacks and. . . me!?

What the heck? That can't be right! I never knew her. So, why in the name of mangoes am I in this photo?

Before I can ask myself any more questions, I spot the writing by the side.

_And pag-ibig ko sa iyo ay tunay, Divina. _

_E.P. _

E.P.? Was this the man in the photo? Divina does sound like a woman's name. . . So it must belong to the lady in this photo.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a hand – glowing and pale – touches my cheek. It held a warmth I've never known before and for once, the longing in my chest ceased. I looked up and my eyes widen.

It was her. The girl in the photo and in my flashbacks.

She had a sad smile on her face. "My love. . . My beloved Emilio. . . How I've waited for this moment."

I could only stare, bewildered and dumbfounded. "Di. . . Divina?"

The sorrow in her smile deepened. I don't know why, but I could tell.

Now that I had a close look of her, she was very beautiful. Her eyes twinkled longingly and her lips looked absolutely kissable – a natural light pink color. She looked like a goddess from one of those Greek mythology books, minus the robe and plant-crown-things.

"Do you remember who I am?"

"N. . . No. I don't. . . I mean. . . Yeah."

She let out a sigh. It sounded like the soft summer breeze. "As expected. Patawad, mahal. It was too naïve of me to think that you would remember just by seeing me. But don't worry, I'm here to help you remember."

I scratch the back of my head. I don't know what to do right now. Just when I found the answers, I'm completely hesitant in knowing. It's hard to explain, but it feels like once I know, I would be in an even worse situation than before. Still, my curiosity prodded me to keep going with my original plan. This was now or never.

"Go on."

"I don't have much time so I'll keep it short. Is that okay, mahal?"

I flinched. Again, why is she referring to me with so much affection? I don't understand. This doesn't make any sense. Unless. . .

"We lived when fate was at its cruelest: World War 2. We had seen our friends and relatives and strangers come and go, there one day and gone the next. But even though life was hard, it was endurable with your love."

"Wait, don't tell me. . ."

"Yes. We were married. I was your wife and you were my husband. We were both madly in love. But we all had another love: our country, our home.

"So, we fought back. Well, _you _fought, actually. You joined the rebellion and I stayed home, taking care of our soon-to-be-baby."

"Wait, wait, _wait—_We had a _baby_?" I couldn't believe this. Why would I forget such a thing? "I. . . I was a father. . .?"

Divina's expression crumpled. Tears stung at the edge of her eyes. I was baffled by her reaction. Words were caught in my mouth, unable to voice out my apology; so, I could only watch as she cried.

"My love!" she sniffed, "Oh, they really are so heartless – never telling you anything. It pains me so, seeing you so clueless of your own child's condition."

"Why? What happened?" I was hysterical. Now that I know I have a child, I felt what most people would call 'fatherly concern' over him or her. Even though I've never met the kid, the concern was still there. Is this how it feels to be a father? "Please, tell me!"

"Calm down, Emilio," she softly said. "I'm sorry, but. . . our child is dead. He died along with me. I'm so, _so _sorry."

"What. . . What do you mean our child died with you? You weren't. . ."

"I was. A Japanese general kidnapped my parents. He told me to come to his office for a negotiation. You weren't there, I was scared, and. . . and I needed to _do _something. I didn't want them to die. I didn't know he would _do _that to me. But I should have know, it was a dark time for us women."

"No, _no_! He _didn't_."

"He did. He. . . He. . . pinned me down and—and. . ."

"It's okay," I gently assured. I reached out for her cheek. It was strange, really; despite being a ghost, I could touch her. She was warm, like the pleasant kind of warm.

I found myself smiling. It must have been reassuring for she smiled back. It wasn't sad or pained like her earlier smiles, but a real, heart-felt smile. I felt the heat rise up to my face. She is really, _really _pretty when she actually truly smiles. It sent a warm, tingly feeling into my heart, which I realized was affection.

"I'll wait for you," she stated determinately. "I'll always wait for you, my love. . . Up in heaven. . . Until _they _release you from that curse."

"Curse? . . . You mean, my immortality?"

"No. The curse they put on you – the curse of a Nation."

"Ah, it's not like it's that bad to be a Nation. . . Really."

She smiled. It was bitter this time and it sent shivers down my spines. "Stripping you of your identity, of your past, and worst of all, your _family._ . . They told you nothing, they kept secrets from you. Just so you would be the perfect image of a Nation. Just so you could be their little puppet. " She paused for a moment, letting that sink in, and then went on, "But it is also an honor, I suppose. To bear the weight of the country is a great responsibility given to little. In short: a gift and a curse."

"I always thought it was an honor. But I always had my suspicions, why they always acted to _weird _when I brought up the past, when I brought up you—they, all this time, were lying to me. . . Keeping all these things from me. . ." I felt a stray tear fall down from my cheek. "I need to have a. . . _talk _with my boss."

"But don't worry, sweetheart; there will come a time where your duty will end. Then you'll be united with all of us – your mom, your dad, your child, me. . . We'll be waiting."

All of a sudden, Divina began to fade. I tried to touch her cheek again, but my hand went through it. No. _No. _She is not going back – not yet! My wife – my sweet, loving wife, who right is before me, is _leaving? _Right before my eyes? Just like that? She can't go; she _can't_!

I reached out to her, tried to bring her into my arms, but I just went through her as if she was air. "No! Dammit, _no_! Don't leave me, please!"

"I'm sorry, mahal. . . I'm so sorry I have to leave you, but my time is up. This shall be the last time we meet."

"No, you _will _come back! I can't live without you – I can't!"

"Goodbye. . ."

And just like that, she disappeared.

I remember crying for hours. I didn't get up or move, I just cried. I felt so frustrated – so, so _lonely. _I tried calling her, but she never came back. Even after days, when I feel just a little hopeful she'll come back, I'll beg into the air for Divina to show herself. But she didn't.

Now, after months of manning up, I'm finally going to confront my boss into ridding me of my duty.

Wait for me, Divina. I'm coming back.


End file.
